


You're a Hurricane (the storm has already started)

by Lawsonia_Inermis



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Dick asks the question we all want the answer for, Family, Fluff, Gen, Jason kinda shoots someone but he does it nicely, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7378732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawsonia_Inermis/pseuds/Lawsonia_Inermis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brothers bonding over a mutual desire to antagonize each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Hurricane (the storm has already started)

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Halsey's Hurricane. I like it when Jason shoots people. Roughly, I imagined their ages to be:  
> \- Dick (30)  
> \- Jason (24)  
> \- Time (22)  
> \- Damian (17)  
> \- Titus (10 - that's impressive!!!)
> 
> ngl this is an unrepetant self-indulgence fic. Read at risk of cavities. These losers seem to inexplicably love each other in the New 52 continuity and while I have a lot of complaints, that is definitely not one of them.

Sunday would turn out to be a disaster, and Dick had the misfortunate of realizing it  _immediately_ upon waking.

When Dick awoke that morning, it wasn’t slow and easy as he'd come to expect, with a buzzing that started in the tips of his toes and travelled up alongs his legs to spread along and out from his spine, catalyzing a rolling stretch that eased all aches and pains from the night previous.

It was to  _ gunshots _ .

That, admittedly, didn’t mean much in Bludhaven, but Dick was as sure as hell that they hadn’t come from within his own home before. He was yanking an escrima stick out from under the pillow (because no one could be raised by Bruce and not be just  _ a little bit  _ paranoid) and vaulting out of the bed before he’d even fully opened his eyes, mindless to the fact that he was dressed only in his boxer-briefs. He didn’t even spare a glance for Tim, who’d come over the night before and was (presumably) still lying, face down, on the other side of the bed.

It took a few seconds of squinting through crusty eyes at his living space to comprehend the scene before him.

Jason was standing inside of the island counter, dressed in only joggers and shamelessly displaying the mosaic of scars all across his torso and along his arms, and the occasional bandage or taped up strip of gauze. He was glaring, bright-eyed and  _ pissed _ , with a steadily raised, smoking pistol aimed just to the left of  _ Damian _ . Damian, who was sitting at one of the kitchen stools and dressed in tight underarmour pants and a lightweight t-shirt, skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Although Dick couldn’t see the kid’s face from this position, he looked completely unaffected by the apparent fact that he had just been  _ shot at _ . 

Except for the small part where his  _ ear  _ was  _ bleeding  _ from where it had been  _ nicked by a bullet _ .

Titus was flopped on the floor beneath the island, lying on his back and rolling around like he wanted to be pet, somehow completely oblivious to the scene above.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Dick snapped, because  _ what the fuck ? _

Damian spun on the bar stool to look at the eldest, as Jason scowled and lowered his pistol like  _ nothing was wrong _ .

“Grayson,” Damian addressed, “you are awake unusually early.”

The blood was dribbling down the shell of Damian's ear and around the lobe of it, flowing towards his jaw and along his neck towards his collar bone in a small, slow-running river. 

Jason turned to the coffee machine, set a mug (with a gun shaped handle, because he either thought he was funny or had no sense of decorum whatsoever) down under it, and flicked it on. 

“I heard  _ gunshots _ ,” Dick explained. 

“ _ One gunshot _ ,” Jason grumbled, at the same time that Damian announced, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Grayson.”

Dick let out a short, choked breath, reachinga hand up to violently scrub the crusts from his eyes, before he proceeded to march into the kitchen and grab his first aid kit. He made sure to jostle Jason much harder than was necessary along the way, but the only effect that had was to startle him into spilling half of his coffee across  Dick’s   _white_ kitchen counter.

Damian scowled at the eldest when he came at him with disinfectant wipes and a bandage. “It’s just a  _ graze _ , Grayson,” he huffed, frowning at the R2D2 band-aid as it approached his person. 

“Why the  _ fuck _ ,” Dick started, and both knew by the tone of voice that he was addressing Jason, “were you  _ shooting  _ at my  _ little brother _ in _my own_ _ kitchen _ ?”

“He was being an asshole,” Jason informed Dick, far more seriously than the circumstance should’ve allowed.

“So you  _ shot him _ ?” Dick snapped back, wiping Damian’s ear, then neck, then jaw, then clavicle, with a disinfectant sheet. The only protest Damian made at the treatment was a scowl, and a bit of squirming when he deemed Dick to be too close.

“I thought he’d duck!” Jason defended.

“I didn’t see a point,” Damian informed them.

“That doesn’t make it okay!” Dick hissed, ignoring the youngest’s statement. He wrapped the Star Wars bandage around the wound gently, before giving the injury a vindictive  _ pinch _ .

Damian flinched slightly and scowled a little harder.

“Oh, come on,” Jason huffed, rolling his eyes  _ like Dick was overreacting _ . To his brother.  _ Shooting his other brother _ . In Dick’s own home! “It hurt the wall more than it hurt the kid.”

“There goes your deposit,” a fourth voice announced, and three pairs of eyes swung around to see Tim, who appeared comically overdressed in thick pyjama pants and a sweatshirt when compared to his brothers, in the various ways that their bodies were on display. In oversized clothes and with barely open eyes, he looked distinctly younger than he actually was, and a fair bit younger than Damian, on top of that. 

(That didn’t really mean much, though, because although Damian was only seventeen, with a little bit of effort he could definitely pass for twenty-five, with his shape and size.)

“Coffee,” Tim demanded from no one in particular, and Jason turned around to refill the Keurig like he owned the place. 

Dick frowned and shot a worried look at the wall behind him.

_ Yup _ . Goodbye, deposit.

“Good thing we’re rich,” Tim continued.

“ _ You’re  _ rich,” Dick grumbled, under his breath. “ _ I’m _ a  _ police officer _ .”

Three incredulous sets of eyes turned to look at him.

“I’m not asking Bruce for money!” Dick protested. “I’m  _ thirty _ .”

While Tim and Jason snorted at that, Damian just rolled his eyes. 

“Pride is unbecoming of you, Grayson.”

“ _ You’re  _ one to talk,” Tim huffed, incredulously, dodging the rather vicious fist Damian sent in his direction as he passed by the younger to snag the last of the bar stools. 

The Keurig let out that funny sputtering noise it made as it finished filling a cup, and Jason set the mug down in front of Tim with the cream and the sugar.

“Coaster, “ Dick told them, before frowning. “You  _ know _ the rules.”

Tim hummed and leaned across the counter to grab one, placing it under his mug. 

Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s granite.”

“I’m not worried about  _ bumps _ . Do you think I clean this counter? I don’t want coffee stains.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Tim grumbled, “I’m not going to  _ spill _ .”

Dick gestured to a coffee stain near the sink, which both of them knew was Tim’s fault, and neither of whom had bothered to properly clean. 

“I’m not gonna spill,” Tim grumbled again, but considerably weaker, this time.

“You literally spilled coffee  _ all over the counter _ ,” Jason announced, gesturing to the spill that had resulted from Dick shoving at him. Neither had bothered to clean that one yet, either.

“That was your fault,” Dick informed him.

Jason didn’t verbally respond, but his face clearly expressed what he thought of  _ that _ . 

Damian snorted loudly from Dick's other side, but Dick shot him a look before he could make a comment. 

Damian rolled his eyes at Dick before turning his attention to Jason.  “Todd, breakfast,” Damian demanded shortly.

Jason turned to look at the kid incredulously. “ _ Excuse me _ ?”

Dick felt Tim perk up from his other side, likely delighted at the prospect of a fight. 

_'Or maybe food_ ,' Dick had as an afterthought, at how own stomach growled at the idea. 

“Well  _ I’m  _ not cooking,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I’m  _ wounded _ . And we don’t let Drake or Grayson inside of kitchens.”

“That is  _ my  _ kitchen, you know. Which I enter. All the time.”

“ _ Wounded _ ?” Jason echoed. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You  _ shot  _ me, Todd.”

“Yeah, in the  _ helix _ . You’ll cook just fine.”

“He’s right,” Tim said, solemnly. “He’s wounded, Jason. He needs to rest.”

Dick nodded, sharply. “This is your fault.  _ You  _ shot him.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jason announced, to the room, at large. “I can’t believe you.”

“Breakfast,” Damian repeated, and it was just as much of a demand as the first time.

“Maybe now you’ll think twice about firing guns in my apartment,” Dick added, both vicious and vindictive, “ _ at our youngest brother _ .”

“Does that mean the replacement is fair game?” Jason asked, at the same time Tim asked, “What about  _ me _ ?”

“Shoot him all you’d like,” Damian said to Todd, at the same time Dick snapped; “Of  _ course not _ !”

Dick and Tim both turned to glare at Damian. 

Jason laughed, short and sharp, before turning to face the fridge. “Yeah,  _ okay _ ,” he grumbled. “Breakfast.”

“I have Super--”

“No one wants _Super-Cereal!_  for breakfast,” Tim interrupted, louder than was necessary. 

“ _ Please _ ,” Jason sneered at Dick. “Don’t insult me.”

“What are you even doing here?” Dick asked of no one in particular.

“Titus needs some sun every once in awhile,” Damian informed the oldest. “It’s always dark in Gotham,” he went on ti add, as if they all weren't well aware.

“I got shot,” Jason announced, slapping a patch of gauze he’d secured to his abdomen with medical tape. “Like, three times. And I broke a few ribs. In the area.”

“In the area,” Dick echoed, because the shithole that was Bludhaven was always  _ten times worse_ the night after the Red Hood paid a visit. 

“I was out of fentanyl patches,” Jason clarified, “so I came over. Do you have any idea how a ride on a motorbike feels with three gunshot wounds and a few broken ribs?”

“No, thanks,” Dick replied, quickly.

Tim snorted loudly.

Jason scowled. “That wasn’t a--  _ nevermind _ . It feels like  _ death,  _ for your information. ”

“You’d know.”

Dick elbowed Damian harshly. 

"You would, too," Jason huffed, pulling ingredients and utensils out of places Dick didn’t even know they’d been.

“Since when have I had baking powder?” Dick asked, rhetorically.

“Since January,” Jason informed him, anyways, with no further clarification.

“I want Shakshuka,” Damian declared.

“You think this lump has the ingredients for Shakshuka?” Jason asked, incredulous. 

“Did you just call me a _ lump _ ?”

Damian scrunched his nose, but made no further complaint.

“I’ll make it for you at my place,” Jason told the kid. “Come by sometime.”

Damian hesitated very briefly before nodding shortly. “Very well.”

A thump startled them all into turning towards Tim, who’d fallen face first onto the counter and knocked over his (empty, now, luckily) mug.

“Tim?” Dick asked, unsure.

“It’s too early,” Tim informed him. 

Damian sneered. “ _ Weak _ .”

“I’m sorry,” Dick said, turning away from Tim and back to Jason and Damian, “I’m confused. Don’t you all hate each other?” 

“I hate you more,” Jason told him, very seriously, while Damian declared, “Of course.”

“It’s okay,” Tim told him. “I love you, Dick.”

“Stop it. That’s dirty, Tim,” Dick sighed, because there was no apparent way to address Jason or Damian’s statements. “You _know_ I've never cleaned that counter.”

Tim just groaned against the granite, rubbing his face against it in some sort of rebellion, Dick could only assume. 

Jason snorted obnoxiously.

“Don’t get  _ snot  _ in the food, Todd.”

“I’ll do whatever I want to this food,” Jason informed Damian. “I’m the one cooking it.”

“This was supposed to be my day off,” Dick told Tim, mournfully. “I was going to sleep until noon, and spend the entire rest of the day doing  _ nothing _ . In peace.”

“I thought you  _ wanted  _ us to get along, _Dickie_ ,” Jason announced, as the room filled with the  _ click, click, roar  _ of a gas burner. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Dick declared, solemnly. “I take it all back.”

“It’s too late for that,” Jason informed him. “Your stove is nicer than mine. I’m never going back.”

“I  _ hate  _ cooking,” Damian announced. “This is all much better with Todd around.”

Dick turned to Tim, waiting for him to add his own two cents, but.

“Is he  _ sleeping _ ?” Jason asked, voicing Dick’s thoughts.

Damian was frowning in Tim’s direction like the sleeping boy had somehow offended him. 

“My counter is filthy,” Dick informed them. “That can’t be healthy.”

“Leave him,” Damian told him. “He’ll wake up when there’s food.”

“How would he--”

"He'll know."

**Author's Note:**

> ngl it's taken me months and atop of that a ridiculous amount of courage to post this, which is maybe sort of ridiculous, considering I've been writing and posting fics for nearly ten years. Still, these characters are very important to me, and so the pressure of doing them justice was real. Please leave kudos of you enjoyed, and I'm completely open to any constructive criticism if you'd like to leave them in the comments below! I actually have completed Batman fics stacked up in my harddrive, from fluff like this to detective stories and even some POV outsider on cases or comics that I thought were interesting. If you're interested in any of those, again, please leave a comment down below. You can also find me on lawsoniainermis.tumblr.com or themarvelousdcu.tumblr.com.


End file.
